Missing Our Lesson Tonight

 

                                            

Around this time on Tuesday nights, I would receive a Zoom link request in my Gmail. I would click on the link, wait for the audio, and then wait for the video to come on. Then, I would see Mike, holding a guitar or a pair of drumsticks waving followed by a hearty "Hel-lo!" 

Tonight, the link appeared in my inbox, but I know he would not be on the Zoom call; Mike died last night and I learned about his passing on Facebook at lunch after several worrisome days of not knowing if he would recover. 

It was not a surprise; it was the third Tuesday in a row that the Zoom link would remain untouched. I messaged him and he told me he was in the hospital with COVID-19. Mike had just gotten married on March 5; he was hospitalized by March 12.  The last message I heard from Mike was on March 16. The last words he said to me were "Great! I need to rest now. Sorry."   The last message he read from me was on March 23: "Missing our lesson tonight! Take care." 

Last night, with a heavy heart, I picked up my guitar after not playing for a couple of weeks, and started playing the blues. I thumbed through the pages in the Hal Leonard guitar book and memories from the lessons accompanied the notes I had written in the margins. 

I will pick up the guitar tonight; that is what Mike would want. He advised, "Practice 15 minutes a day, and if you practice before bed, you will remember more." 

Godspeed, Mike.  I will see you again someday and hopefully play music with you on a cloud somewhere.